Keep Your Friends Close, and Your Luggage Closer
by Enope
Summary: A new take off of the classic story. Giles Whitholl and Conall Haerle are the biggest names in London crime fighting. Yet she has no idea who they are or what they have to do with the fate of her study abroad session.
1. The Exchange

**This is my first story so please bear with me. It was inspired by the works of the magnificent Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, and the spin off television show by the BBC network. I own all the character names and the plot, but not the assimilation to the Sherlock Holmes Series. Please enjoy and comment.**

* * *

She sat by the window drawing a small cartoon in the condensation, waiting for the plane to pull in off the tar. It had been over an hour but she didn't mind much. She was too tired to care. She could see her reflection in the window. Her faint image was filled with the sluggish lull of Sunday workers. Each one was a tiny ant from her perspective. The glass was cold to the touch and outside was dark with a foggy mist coating the runway, obscuring the blinking lights that lined it. She had wished she could have gotten a more reasonable flight. She knew the financial situation was tight, but she was still exhausted.

" Ye, must be from Spain if ya think the weather is gonna be all sunny, miss!", cackled the man next to her as he gestured at her window drawing of a smiling sun. He had just finished slipping a scarf on when he noticed her drawing. His intention was not to be rude and she could tell from his warm smile and twinkling eyes. She smiled at him and nodded her head as if she understood, but turned back to the window anyway. While she found that things normally did go wrong, being a pessimist was simply hurting the situation.

"Thank you all for your patience. You all may now retrieve your things from the overhead compartments. And thank you for flying Delta!" came the stewardess at the front with a flourish of her hands.

Everyone moved to get up and quickly cleared the plane. The girl waited until most everyone was gone then got her own bag from overhead. As she was about to leave the plane the girl heard some whining coming from several rows behind her. There she saw a mother struggling with a baby and two kids. Sighing a sympathetic smile the girl went over to help the struggling mother of three get her carry-ons down. She then offered to carry the youngest out. When they got into the terminal she handed the infant to the grateful father with the frazzled hair and was waved goodbye. The girl meandered to the luggage pick up marveling at everything around her as if she was in another world. The terminal was huge, almost as large as the Denver airport, maybe it was. There were many, many glass windows. Each one was as clear as if they had been cleaned just last night.

Luckily her suitcase was just coming out of the reclaim. She heaved it off the line and blew a strand of hair out of her face. She shook her head at the reflection in the metal on the reclaim walls and thought about how messy she looked to others. She shifted her carry-on bag on her shoulder and looked at the address on her wrist. While she was looking down at the words a man in a blue cap slammed into her, knocking her down, and sending her carry-on and bag skittering away.

"I am so sorry miss." said the man as he walked to her case.

She headed after the still sliding carry-on. Once she had caught it she turned back to the man. He handed her the handle of her suit case, not ever making eye contact. The girl looked at the man and studied what she could see of his face. Normally she would have kept walking, but this man was limping and his left sock was dark red. His eyes were a melty-chocolate brown and he was a little pale in the face. He looked like he had just been in a fight; his cheeks were flushed an alarming shade of red that strangely complimented his purple and blue black eye. Despite his bruised face, bleeding lip, sordid old suit, and single shoe the girl didn't take him for a vagrant so much as one of those 'lost-soul-people' that H.M. always talked about with her nose turned up.

"No worry." she came as she offered him a warm smile. She wanted to ask if he needed help, but saw how eager he was to move along. She hoped whoever was after him wouldn't catch him.

Then he was off, shuffle-tripping past her capsized carry-on as clumsily and quickly as he came. The girl shook her head and watched his blue cap bob through the crowd as he power-walked away. He made a swift right turn at the green bench with the sleeping commuter and vanished into the crowd. The girl turned away and bent to pick up her carry-on only to be bowled over, yet again, by a group of maybe five men in nondescript black suits. All the men were about the same tall, broad, athletic build and their suits matched to a tee. One however, was clearly in charge, the Number One man. He was the only one wearing a bona fide Rolex watch. She only knew the brand, because there was one in the glass case in the H.M.'s office. The other four men fanned out, two on either side of him making a 'V' like geese do whenever they fly. The Number Two man was probably the first one on his right with the brown crew-cut and cold eyes. He stood with his body turned in towards Number One, unlike the first on the left who was turned out - obviously Number Three. Number Three was the only blonde. He had a black leather man-purse with a shiny silver clasp over his left shoulder. Yes, an actual man-purse. Number Four was right next to him and had one over those old school Bluetooth ear pieces peeking out from behind his long black hair in his right ear. The last one, Number Five, was the second on One's right side and could not have been any more than 18 years old. As the group collected themselves he did his very best not to look her in the eye.

"Airport security.", said Number One as her stared down at her sitting on the floor, " Sorry miss. A drunkard got in and we can't seem to catch him. You seen a bumblin' fellow about yay high wearin' a dark blue cap with tweedy scarf? He'll be all bruised up like 'cause he got in a fight wit 'un a my men."

The girl nodded, annoyed and pointed them in the direction of the "lost-soul" man. Curious, she thought, he didn't smell like alcohol and if he had got in a fight with them shouldn't at least one of them have blood on their fist from when they split his lip. She was very good at picking up on things like this that no one else would notice. H.M. called it OV for overdrive, because the girl always became extremely focused as her brain worked out a solution at a mile a minute. She had become quite well known for it back home. She also noted the bulging space for a side arm in each of the men's jackets. In the end she figured that if airport security thought he was drunk then he had to have done something to get in trouble. The men then ran right past without even helping her up. What an impression England was making.

Before catching a ride to the address she went to a counter outside out the boarding area and asked for a package under the name of her H.M. The man behind the counter went off into the room behind him. This airport had post boxes in it and the girl had sent herself a pack with some items that weren't allowed on the plane. He took twenty minutes to find the package and come back. He was absent mindlessly drinking a strange soda as well. Where he got that from in the storage room she didn't know.

"Sorry miss we get a lot of trafficking in and about o' London."

The girl smiled sweetly at him in understanding as she took her package, but then proceeded to turned around heave a quiet sigh of exasperation. Finally put together she headed out of the terminal and into the street to hail a cab. When one finally pulled over she unclipped the safety bracelet around her wrist and showed the cabbie the address. The whole trip here had been arranged rather slapdashedly, as she wasn't supposed to be here for another month. The H.M. had simply said that something had come up and that she need to leave immediately.

"I 'member this place," the cabbie chuckled to himself as he knocked his hat, "Why ever is she goin' here."

The girl hadn't heard his comment though, for her full attention was again out the window. She intently watch the scenery go by as if in an alien world. She watched the people with their black umbrellas rush to and fro each in their own reality where they were the center of the universe. She watched the pattern the rain made on the window. The drops raced each other down the pane in a Darwinian competition for size and speed. After what seemed like an hour the cab came to a halt and the man handed her the bracelet.

"'Dis is it mis, 'ave lovely stay in Lond'n!"

The girl looked at the building quizzically. She was supposed to be boarding in a spare room with two girls, their parents, their grandma, and a landlord. This apartment, however, looked only big enough for possibly three bedrooms, and maybe a basement. Her brain got to working in full OV. 'So', she thought, 'The girls said they had separate rooms in the letter they wrote to her, so did the grandma. Plus one for the parents and the one for herself would make five bedrooms. Add another for the landlord, and that made six. Six minus four equals two rooms short'.

"Are you sure this is it?", she asked the cabbie.

"Sure as I am of my own name! I myself was wonderin' what business you had doin' at this of all places."

The girl skeptically got out of the cab and looked up at the looming building. She paid the cabbie and got her luggage out all the same. Then just as the cab was about to leave two men came rushing out of the apartment shouting something she couldn't pick up. They then proceeded to knock her over and hop in the cab speeding away as suddenly as they came. Her butt was starting to hurt from being bowled over. Not to mention that her pants were soaked through as well.

"Good morning to you too.", she mumbled shaking her head. The rain had slowed to a drizzle so she took off her jacket and tied around her waist in order to hide the wet spot. People here were even more hurried than NYC. The girl adjusted her bracelet and double checked the address. They matched.

Tentatively the girl knocked on the dark stained door by heaving its old golden knocker twice. After about a minute an old woman came to the door. She had a sweet face and kind eyes, wrinkled in the corners from many years of countless smiles. She was wearing an old fashioned apron with a classic, but faded red rose pattern and mint green fringe and ties. On one hand she still wore an oven mitt that matched her cute baking ensemble. Her silvery hair was pinned up nicely, twisting like a snowy mountain path up her head until secured on the side with a beautifully encrusted clip.

"Hello. Are you Sara Eldings' grandmother?" the girl asked.

"What? Am I who?"

"Umm, well I was supposed to be staying with a girl named Sara Eldings. I was told this was her address."

"No, I am sorry dear. There is most certainly no one by that name here."

"Oh well thank you. I guess if you see a girl that looks like this," the girl pulled out a creased postcard picture and showed it to the woman, "would you mind telling her that her boarding student was here?"

"Sorry, is this Ms. Sara Eldings?"

"Yes mam."

"Oh hon, you must be her."

"Who?"

"Our exchange ward. Conall has told me all about you. Come inside dear, come inside."

Curious as to what had happened with the Eldings, yet wary of what could happen, the girl entered the apartment with the woman. If it came to be an unsafe environment she had seen a shop next door that she could run to for help. Plus she could definitely take on the frail old woman. H.M. had required that she start matching her physique and intellect equally at about 8 years old. So she had a few martial arts classes under her belt, her black belt.

When she stepped inside she was in awe of the apartment. It was so much larger than it had appeared on the outside, and so tastefully decorated with a perfect mixture of traditional and contemporary home design. The entryway had a vaulted ceiling covered in stained wood paneling with three light fixtures suspend above. They weren't gaudy chandeliers though, they were stylish fixtures with a broad black rings hung parallel to the floor supporting four small Edisonian bulbs on top. Each one was hung a little further down the hall. The walls were a nice cream color and contrasted nicely with the dark stained ceiling and floors. As her eyes followed the base boards she came to see a gorgeous staircase. It was stained a shade lighter than the other wood and hugged the left wall until it swerved right at its apex creating a gorgeous arch as well as a space for an industrial style spiral staircase. This staircase went who knows where. It sat atop a landing where she could see the top of a few chairs and a door way labeled 'B.' She was lead further down the hall to where the stairway arched over. Back underneath it was a small little kitchen. She could hear a man singing and pots clashing.

"La, Da, Da, Di, Da, Dum, Da. I AM COOKING! For my wife!"

An old man turned around when he heard the old lady's heels click on the tile floor. He beamed the biggest smile that the girl couldn't help giggling at. It went perfectly with his apron and mitt that matched the old lady's ensemble. When he noticed the girl behind the woman he jumped up and clicked his heels together.

"A guest! Finally, a judge for my cannoli. It is made with love and excellence. You won't find a better one. Not even the miss's." The old man smiled mischievously and plated a selection for the girl.

"Giorgio! What are you doing in my apron! I was gone for, but second!"

"It just goes so lovely with my skin!"

The old woman sighed, placing one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead. The old man just beamed at the lady and winked at the girl gesturing at the dish. She promptly proceeded to taste the cannoli. It was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. Against her own will, the girl sighed aloud.

"I am Mrs. Bickerstaff, I will be your landlady for a while. I apologize for my husband's behavior. Apartment D will be yours. Right there to the left."

Coming out of her haze the girl remembered why she was here. She shook her head clearing the cannoli induced stupor.

"Did something happen to the Eldings?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Oh, I am so sorry. I can't believe you don't know. We thought you were told."

"H.M. said that an opportunity had come up out of the blue. What happened?"

"Sara Eldings, dear, is dead."


	2. A History

**I apologize for taking so long to post this chapter.**

 **This was inspired by the works of the magnificent Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, and the spin off television show by the BBC network. I own all the character names and the plot, but not the assimilation to the Sherlock Holmes Series. Please enjoy and review.**

* * *

"She's what?" the girl was shocked almost to silence. She tried to OV, but the word death always messed with her brain. Frankly all she felt was annoyance.

"Sara was found dead about a week ago." Mrs. Bickerstaff responded with concern in her voice.

"Is this the girl?" Mr. Bickerstaff whispered. The jovial smile vanishing. The two continued a quite correspondence looking over at the girl with worried glances.

Yet again the girl heard nothing. She was in her own world, trying to piece together what had happened. The H.M. got that weird phone call about a week ago. She was whispering all hushed and had locked herself in the office.

"Then why I am here." The girl snapped, unsettled that her OV was out of order.

"Well, I … we, thought you wanted to come, the proprietor of your Home was very teared up." Mr. Bickerstaff nodded in agreement with the Mrs.'s statement.

"She never said anything about Sara being dead to me at all. All she said was that the address had been incorrect and gave me this one." The girl was getting furious.

"Conall called your propri…"

"We call her the H.M.", the girl interjected angrily again. H.M. had left out a murder? What the caramel covered fudge was wrong with her! That woman was on sitting on pins and needles now!

"Oh. Your H.M…," Mrs. Bickstaff corrected her self, "and told her about what had happened. When he learned about your plans for studying abroad, he thought you could stay in D for the time being. Your H.M. thought it was marvelous but told us that your response was important to her."

"Of course she did." the girl murmured under her breath.

WAIT ONE SECOND. How was she to know that this little old couple was lying their head off. Sure they didn't look like the cackle-and-maniacally-kidnap-children type, with her slivery gray hairs, his cannoli, and their cookie cutter grandparent smiles and aprons. Mrs. Bickerstaff also had known details about the H.M. Still though, there is always a chance of deceit. No matter how lacking in deceit the situation seems to be

"Would you mind if I…"

BRIING...BRINNG!

"Oh, one second darlin' I need to get this." Mrs. Bickerstaff hurried down the hall to a hanging wall phone.

"...use your phone." she heaved out. The girl got up and followed behind the woman to the door with D on it. Mrs. Hudson had picked up the phone just after it stopped ringing.

"Bother. I will be just a minute. You can set down your things right in there and then we will get this all sorted. Don't you worry."

Cracking open the door to her room she peek in and down the stairs. After fumbling around for light switch she found the plastic and flicked it on. Nothing. The girl set down her suitcase and slid her carry-on off her shoulder. Now was a good time for that package. She ripped the tape off, rolled it up, and stuck it inside her carry-on to be disposed of later. Inside of the box was a black Ogio with red accents swaddled carefully in newspaper sheets.

This backpack was a gift from her first ever foster parents. That's right, she is in the system. They had been the only set to ever understand her OV and accept her as she was. This couple was young but wise, they always seemed to act older than they were. The father's name was Dennis and the mother's Florence. They got her when she was in Elementary school and helped her more than her birth parents ever did. Even now she prefers to use their last name as her own. She was with them for two whole years the longest stint she ever had. They loved her very much and she saw them as her forever home. However, this was not to last. They couldn't keep her. Dennis became very sick near the end of the last year. When the state reevaluated them it was decided that they wouldn't have the funds to take care of her while Dennis was in the hospital. This backpack was their way of telling her they would be filled it with little surprises in each pocket. As she bounced through the system she made a pact with her self that on the first day with a different family she would open a new pocket. She had run out of pockets three families before she landed in the Home. She had no idea of how the H.M. had got wind of her, but get of wind of her she did. The H.M. had requested that the girl be sent to her. After all each child in _her_ Home had to have an air of mystery about them. Just like the H.M. her self.

The girl scoffed quietly at the thought of the woman as she removed the bag and unzipped the second-most pocket from the front. By now she had the location of each item in the bag memorized. Hooked on the inside of said pocket was a small but extremely bright flashlight. Clicking it on she shone it down the stairs where she could see them bend around a corner. She had hoped to see a breaker box from here, but it looked like she would have to go down and look. The girl slipped the Ogio on her back and held the flashlight in her mouth. Having secured her light source she picked up the carry-on and suitcase to venture down the stairs.

She made it to the landing before it hit her.

"Oh you idiot." The girl mumbled past the flashlight as she dropped her carry-on and slapped her forehead. She blamed Sara for taking so long to get the the conclusion.

Her OV slowly got back to order now that the shock of Sara's death had worn off (Her emotions rarely lasted long).

 _Of course there wasn't a breaker box in the basement. She had distinctly heard a humming when she was walking to the kitchen._

 _An oven?_

 _Of course not. A washing machine!_

 _What does that have to do with a breaker box?_

 _If not in the kitchen most boxes are put by washing machines for electricity purposes. It is classic design._

 _Ohhhh! I remember now!_

The girl clicked off the light and set her suitcase down on the landing. She jogged carefully up the stairs in the dark all previous anger gone as she was excited about getting her OV back. When she got to the top Mrs. Bickerstaff flashed her a sad smile. In attempt to show her lack of hostility the girl returned it with an overly happy smile. Both of their attention was snapped away when Giorgio yelped from the kitchen.

"HELP! I AM ON FIRE! LORNA, HELP!"

Mrs. Bickerstaff, presumably named Lorna dropped the phone and then rushed down the hall.

"GIORGIO!"

The girl snickered when she saw Mrs. Bickerstaff pelting her husband with the fire extinguisher long after the flames had gone out.

"Hello? Mrs. Bickstaff? Hello?" a voice came from the hanging phone. In her hurry Mrs. Bickerstaff hadn't hung it up so the line was still connected. The girls eyes brightened as she thought about how she could gain a little more information about her elderly hosts. She lifted the phone to her ear careful to hold the mouthpiece away from her mouth so the other end of the line didn't hear her breathing.

"Conall she's gone. Do I have to stay on the line. Wait, Conall I hear screaming."

And then the front door exploded.


	3. The Escape

**I apologize for taking such a long time to post this chapter.**

 **This was inspired by the works of the magnificent Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, and the spin off television show by the BBC network. I own all the character names, but not a thing else. Please enjoy and review. :)**

* * *

The girl raised her arms to shield her face and neck while she turned and squatted in an attempt to keep herself safe from the flying door. Alas, the door struck her in back ready to flatten her. She felt a throbbing sensation where the door had connected with her backpack and opened her mouth to yelp. However, under its weight she was smashed to the ground and her chin hit the floor smothering the yelp. Her vision went black, the taste of blood blossomed in her mouth, and her ears rung like the liberty bell. However, in a few seconds white stars sparked in front of her eyes and she could see Lorna screaming as she dropped the fire-extinguisher. She still heard nothing.

The girl blinked and made a move to get up, but froze when she saw Lorna's eyes flick to her and then to the now doorless doorway behind her. The message she saw in Lorna's eyes was clear.

"Don't move."

So she waited. The girl was at two seconds and counting when she saw six black shoes go running past her. These black shoes were connected to black pants and black jackets. From her vantage point the girl could only see their backs and was therefore unable to read any ill-intent on their faces. However, at four seconds she saw one of the men give a swift left hook to Giorgio. She was now guessing that their intent was most likely ill. At six seconds her hearing returned. She took in Mrs. Bickerstaff's scream sobbing, Mr. Bickerstaff's hollering, and most interestingly the suited punchy man's questioning. She picked up three of his words: 'where', 'drive', 'now'. If she hadn't been listening so hard she would have never picked up the sound of halting footsteps beside her. It luckily sounded like just one pair. Lying as still and silent as possible she counted eight and kicked into OV.

 _This is not a good situation._

 _Really?_

 _Don't be a Smart Alec. What do we do? We are going to die!_

 _Don't be so dramatic. You know emotions interfere with OV._

 _Fine ! Then what are we going to do?_

 _We establish a goal and set up a plan. We also slow our breathing. Hyperventilate anymore and the offender next to us is sure to hear._

 _Ok, ok. Goal: Live?_

 _It needs to be more specific._

 _We need to escape in the least harmed condition possible._

 _Better. Now a plan._

 _We saw 3 pairs of shoes._

 _Don't forget whoever is right next to you._

 _That is four people. Where do we exit?_

 _There is only one that we have seen._

 _There is no way I am going to be able to turn around lift off the door and scamper through the front without being tackled by the figure to our right._

 _So where do we go._

 _Second story?_

 _You think there will be a window?_

 _Yes. I remember seeing one on our way in._

 _Alright, sprint for stairs…_

 _No. Take out the person next to us using the door and then book it._

 _Good idea._

 _We just need wait for an opening._

Nine seconds. The girl glanced down the hall under the landing where two blurry men had grabbed Giorgio and the other had Lorna. They came out of the kitchen and started heading towards her. Her heart skipped a beat, afraid that they would see her and her plan would have been for nothing. Luckily the men had knocked Lorna unconscious and two were dragging her as they back stepped keeping her out of their line of sight. Eleven seconds. She glanced back to the kitchen where Giorgio was being held in a full Nelson. The last man used his control to throw Mr. Bickerstaff in to a room with a washing machine and, satisfactorily a breaker box. On the count of twelve Lorna was tossed down the stairs in to D.

She decided that now was her chance. Glad that the person next to her hadn't noticed her underneath the door she twisted slowly and braced her hands on the inside of the thick door. Thirteen. The girl pushed with all her might, throwing the door on to the figure next to her. He was knocked backwards and smacked right into the two men behind him, sending them tumbling down the stairs after Mrs. Bickerstaff. It was a happy, but unplanned consequence. On the mark of fourteen she then bolted for the stairs taking them two at a time. She reached the landing at sixteen and turned to see the three men hadn't gotten pulled together yet. The two who had dragged Lorna were still downstairs and the person next to her, who she could now see the behind of, had his head and shoulders underneath the door with his butt in the air. The man from the kitchen with Giorgio was apparently having too much trouble with the old man to help the other three. To the girl's surprise there was also a figure in the shadow of the door. He was presumably the look out as he had his back turned and… Were those head phones? It was no wonder he hadn't moved to help.

Being fifteen seconds and counting the girl did a quick three sixty, to take in the landing. The basic layout was two chairs facing the back wall, a sofa on the right wall (in relation to looking through the front door and down to the kitchen), a spiral stair case in the cavity on the left, a sky light at the top of the back wall, and some stuff shoved in the back left corner. The sofa and chairs were much more modern than the classical look seen in the ceiling and kitchen décor. The two chairs were facing a metal mantle on the back brick wall. Both chairs were identical with perfectly bleached white upholstery and matching grey throw pillows. They didn't look to be for comfort, but instead for decoration. They appeared to be mirror images, except that one was at a different angle than the other and had drag marks matching its feet on the carpet. The marks swung around gestured to a swivel office chair hidden in the corner right next to the door he had seen earlier. However she now realized that door was leaning against the wall and had been torn of the hinges.

The girl quickened her spin and skipped the critique, instead just scanning. There were scuffs on the spiral stair case, chips on the guard rail, and the sofa against the right wall had been shoddily repaired. There was a sun worn space on the wall above the mantle and the two candles framing the space were flameless, despite the lighter hidden behind the candlestick. Snapping her out of casing the landing a shout sprung from the throat of the man climbing out from under the door. Seventeen.

She had to move. Opting for the spiral staircase the girl leapt to the first step and swung herself around as she went up. On the last step before disappearing from view she caught a glimpse of the fifth figure turning to come in through the open front doorway, having heard the man she had thrown the door at. Eighteen. She quickly disappeared up the steps and came to a decision of two rooms. The door on the left was label A, and the one on the right was missing a door, but had a cement garden stepping stone labeled "Door Stop" in its place. The door on the landing must have belonged here. OV.

 _Right. No door._

 _Also no exit._

 _Door A is locked._

 _It is the one with the widow! Where would you rather go?_

 _We can't break it down._

 _Hinges. Duh!_

The girl quickly got to work. She swung down her pack and unzipped the smallest pocket. Inside she kept only one item. The Pocket Knife. With the pack back on her shoulders she flipped out one of the duller knives and inserted the blade between the bolt and the top of the plate on the bottom hinge. She used the blade as a lever and twisted it, causing the bolt to snap up out of its resting place. Deftly she popped out each one of the bolts in the same manner. She surely would have taken too long getting them out if she hadn't already done this before. Long story short, the back door at the Home always 'got stuck'. By twenty one she had gotten all of the bolts out. She pushed the door in at the end farthest from the handle causing it to bend out of the lock.

Before she could get through a hand grabbed her pack pulling her away. Her knife slipped out of her hand a skittered away. The man's other hand came around her left side and tried to cover her mouth. She ducked it and kicked off the floor using her attacker's momentum pulling her back, in order to push him on to the floor. He let go of the pack when she landed on him due to the painful bend of his wrist. She then lunged forward and lifted the cement doorstop. It was the only weapon quickly within reach. OV.

 _Yeah, no. We are not getting kidnapped by this guy. Options?_

 _Bash him on the head!_

 _NOOO! That could literally kill him! We aren't a murderer._

 _Right. Knock out his knees?_

 _Maybe._

 _Use it as a weight?_

 _Possible too. Pros and Cons?_

 _If we go for the knees we could use the swinging momentum to bash the door in._

 _But then they will be able to follow us._

 _If we knock him off balance we could block up the stairway._

 _Bingo._

So when he surged up at her she...

She recognized him as Number Three from the airport. Her plan went out the window as she missed her opening to use the weight to send him down the stairs. Instead she ducked again and spun throwing her shoulder in to his back when he charged her. That extra push sent him head first in to the door. It broke out of the lock and burst into the room sending splinters flying. She could hear footsteps clanging up the stair case. It a last ditch attempt at escape she scooped up her knife, popped it in her jacket pocket and leapt over the now unconscious man into the room. She gasped in relief when she saw the window and proceeded to hurl the stone out of it. Twenty five. Glass shattered and sprayed in to the street three stories below. The girl pulled her long sleeves over the palms of her hands and used her forearms to try and knock away some of the sharper parts. As slowly as she dared, given her situation, the girl stepped on to the small window shelf and leaned outside. The noises were on the landing now. Desperately she searched for a ledge, but none was to be found. Her eyes darted up where she saw a gutter and roof just a foot away. If she jumped she could reach it. OV.

 _Jump._

 _Absolutely not! We could die._

 _Yeah and we could die if we stay._

 _That is a fifty percent chance._

 _Well what are we going to…_

"STOP!", the girl whirled her head around to meet eyes with Number One, twenty nine, "Stay right where you are. We aren't after you. Just let us talk."

When bouncing through foster homes the girl had gotten very good at telling if people were lying. In her situation it made for a safety mechanism. She could see right now the micro-expression of contempt pass over his face as the muscles around his lips contracted. He was definitely lying. Before she could respond the sound of sirens over the rumble of the rest of the traffic snapped all head in the direction of the street. Thirty contempt turned to fear.

 _JUMP!_

So in one smooth movement the girl spun around to the outside of the window and pushed off the ledge with all her might. In a second of pure horror her fingertips missed the roof. She was only saved by latching on to the gutter in a shoulder jerking movement. A screw popped out of the top hole in the bracket a few feet down the gutter. The girl pulled her feet up and just avoided being grabbed from below. She kicked down putting her left foot into the face of Number One, giving herself a foothold. She used his face as a spring board to launch herself rolling onto the hard roof of the building. As she rested on the roof catching her breath she heard the sound of sirens on the street just below. She sat still for a moment to make sure that she hadn't been followed. Satisfied she stopped her internal timer at thirty six seconds. Strange how so much could happen so fast. The girl sat up and dusted off her jeans, thankful that she had gotten away. Time for an injuries assessment. OV.

 _Eyes?_

 _Back to normal._

 _Hearing?_

 _Returned at full capabilities._

 _Blood in the mouth?_

 _Just bit our tongue. We do have a huge chin bruise though, and it is going to hurt to chew for a while._

 _How pleasant. Anything else?_

 _Definite concussion._

After the second it took to asses her state she crawled over to the edge of the roof and watched three men run out the front door carrying the fourth unconscious man. The hopped into two cars parked across the street. She was about to look away when she thought about catching their license plates. The brown one in back was a Jeep with the plate number **BD65 WMK**. It blocked the plates of the black minivan in front. The girl took a moment to store away her thought about soccer dads in minivans before the brown jeep pulled away. She now had a clear line of sight to the plate number **JA15** …

Darkness fell over her vision as she collapsed to the ground unconscious.

* * *

 **Hello all. I would like to address why this has been taking forever. I wrote this story many moons ago when I was an even worse writer. I have been going through changing scenes and adding descriptions to what I could read of my awful handwriting. So, I am super sorry about the month long waits.**

 **Secondly I created a poll, because I embellished the 'bad guys' more than I had originally and I realized that I could have Number Five be a possible love interest. Please check it out, I am at a loss of what to do.**

 **Thanks for viewing.**

 **Enope**


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